The Day Hope Died
by MySunnyDisposition
Summary: It's like this every single time. He falls into the painful trap of caring only to have his world fall apart. Talk about bad luck.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I've kinda been upset about things lately, mainly writer's block for my other story "Love Without End" and I decided to post this, although I had been wanting to hold off on it until later, but it demanded otherwise in my head. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders.**

If by some chance people ever remember June 28, 1992, they'll likely recall an earthquake in California. The earthquake leaves at least three dead and more than four hundred injured. A very heartbroken man in different part of the country doesn't care much when he later hears the news about California. In his mind, it's already a sad day, the saddest one yet. To him, it's known as the day yet another part of him died.

It's early in the morning when it happens. He's only just woken up, but he knows right away it's happened, because he can't hear her breathe anymore. She's nothing more than an empty body next to him now, and as the horrifying truth sinks in, he can almost hear her say it's okay to cry over her. He wishes she was still alive so he could tell her not to flatter herself, because like hell he would ever… Like hell…

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he does the very last thing he wants to and gets out of bed. There's people to inform, and the phone doesn't dial numbers by itself. He has to remind himself not to worry about leaving her. She's not going anywhere.

As he stands, he starts asking the questions. Why did she have to go before him? Why couldn't someone mourn him first for a change? It's not fair to give a man a something so good and then take her away. It's not right! Ugh, he almost lets out a laugh. Listen to him. If she was still there she'd be telling him to stop feeling sorry for himself. People expect things from him now, and he can't let them down. He needs to be stronger than ever.

He still can't help it when a sob escapes his throat. He remembers once wondering whether it'd dull the pain, if a person anticipated something like this.. Now he knows. It doesn't. Pain is pain, loss is loss, and time gone by stays gone, especially when a person wants it back the most.

"November 4, 1965," he groans into his hands. He'd claim he's not praying, but he is. "Please let me have that one day back, and leave me there to live it all over again."

* * *

Nov. 4, 1965

He's never liked silence. It's why he was always the loudest troublemaker of all the boys. It's also why he constantly stayed at Buck's, under a noisy bridge, or even jail, only using the Curtis's as a last resort. Their house is always quiet at night, always was, and he wonders how they never go insane from the lack of sound. Isn't it maddening to have nothing but their own thoughts buzzing around in their heads? It must be, but maybe they just knew something he didn't about the quiet. It doesn't matter. He won't ever see them again, and they can shove their peaceful evenings up their asses.

Lately though, he doesn't mind the quiet. That's probably because there's absolutely nothing going through his mind other than, _'time to eat,'_ or _'you should sleep,'_ and maybe _'this car might give you a ride'_. Other than the occasional odd job, nothing in his world exists besides walking and breathing, one foot, then the other, in, then out.

All his fire is gone, snuffed out only minutes after running out of that hospital. If he could feel anything, he'd feel more pathetic than he ever has in his seventeen years of life. As it is, he's numb, but not that true kind of numb of blissful nothing that almost feels like a buzz or a high. No, he's stuck with the kind of numb that makes you come face to face with what the anger masks, like the sadness, the despair, the desperation, and any other negative emotion people cover up with anger.

So he walks, and one lazy, fall afternoon, he walks straight into a small ass town in the northern part of Texas. The sign he passed on the way in says it's called Fort Davis. It means absolutely nothing to him.

Two bucks in change is all he has in his pockets. He'll need to get some dough soon, preferably using legal means. He ain't afraid of jail, but he's not in his right mind to be dealing with the penal system. To get hauled in might as well be a death sentence. He wonders why he cares.

A grumbling in his stomach signals the need for food, and he stops in a place that says _Fort Davis Drug Store Hotel and Restaurant_. It's a quiet place. Hardly anyone's there except this little girl with mousy brown hair and a cute, blonde waitress. One month and twenty seven days ago, he would've been hitting on that waitress, making her blush with crude as hell comments, but that was one month and twenty seven days ago. Now he only nods politely as he sits down and waits for her to come over.

"What would you like, sir?" she asks sweetly but not in a flirty way. The "sir" throws him a little. He's been referred to as "grease", "hood", "boy", and even occasionally "sonny" for a while now, but never "sir".

"Water," he says. "And a burger. No fries."

"Fries aren't extra."

He nods. "Okay, I'll have them then."

She smiles kindly at him and goes to tell the order to cook in the back. The girl, the one with brown hair comes over and sits down without an invitation.

"Where are you from?" she asks.

He blinks. No one talks to him. Ever. At all. For any reason. Everywhere he's gone they know to stay clear of him, and that's without knowing for sure they have good reason to.

"Ain't you ever heard that drifters are dangerous?"

She tilts her head to the side, and damn if she don't look like a puppy. "Are you a drifter?"

"I just said I was."

She shakes her head. "No, you asked a question in which you inquired whether or not I'd ever heard about the danger of drifters. However, you never said if you were one or not."

He stares at her. What the hell? Is she being smart with him? Back in Tulsa no one would've dared. She seems to notice his confusion and she grins cheekily at him. He'll learn she does that a lot.

"Sorry if I bothered you, but our town gets a lot of visitors, and when I have the chance, I ask them where they are from."

He raises an eyebrow. "How the hell do you get a lot of visitors?"

Her grin widens. "I know, right? We don't seem like we do, but it's true. It's mainly because of the McDonald's Observatory."

"The what?"

She sips her coke. "It sounds weird, doesn't it? It's to do with looking at the stars, like a big telescope. Anyway, it brings a bunch of nerdy people out here who also drag their families along. They stay here in town and see the observatory in the following days. Another source of tourism around here is the historical sites, but it's mainly the observatory that brings people."

She talks fast, and he has to listen closely to understand what she's saying. He's still unraveling all the information when the waitress comes back with his food.

"Miss. Hyland, are you being a bother again?"

The girl rolls her eyes. "I don't know, Patty, ask Mr., uh…" She looks back at him. "What's your name?"

It's been a while since he's introduced himself to anyone. The name won't have the same meaning to these two as it did back home, and the two words, four syllables in total, that make up the damn thing feel awkward on his tongue.

"Dallas Winston."

"Right." The girl faces Patty again. "Ask Mr. Winston." She drains the last of her coke. "I gotta get to work."

"Tell Lulu hi."

The girl rolls her eyes again. "Tell her yourself. We're only across the street and down a ways."

"Yeah, but she's the competition."

"True, but you've got an edge. Lulu doesn't provide cokes."

Patty laughs and waves her away. The girl turns to go but stops before looking over her shoulder at Dallas.

"I'm Hope by the way. Hope Hyland. It was nice talking to you, Dallas Winston."

 **So, I know Dallas is out of character, but that's because he's still grieving. Slowly Dallas will return to being a bit of a jerk, but I hope to make him grow as a character as he tries to work through his feelings of loss. I think this will be a challenge, and I hope I meet it.  
**

 **By the way, if I get anything wrong about Ft. Davis as far as facts, it's just an honest mistake, or it's me taking liberties because this is fiction and I need to make my story work, okay? All the same, I hope not to offend anybody who is from the town or knows more about it, and if I do, then I apologize. I just wanted to use the name of an actual town. Thanks.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders.**

June 28, 1992

Dallas is in the bathroom down the hall. There's a master bath in their bedroom, but he can't be in there right now, so he's in the one down the hall, and he's staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror. A look inside his head would show how he's stressing about how he's gonna tell everybody she's gone, especially when he can barely process it himself. Then he thinks of something else.

"No promises" was always her thing to say, sneaking it into the conversation when she agreed to something she didn't like.

He can picture her saying it now, because she told him a lie last night. And before that, she had told him a terrible thing.

"I hope you're asleep when it happens."

"Huh?" he was already drifting off.

"When I die, I hope you're asleep."

He sat up a bit. "Why the hell would you wish something like that?"

"Because I want you here, with me, but I don't want you to see it happen. You've seen too many people die in your life."

"Well wish not fucking granted, Hope," he hissed, rubbing furiously at his eyes. "Because I'm wide awake now."

She had scoffed at him. "Relax. I'm not planning on dying tonight."

Despite the scowl on his tired face, he was relaxed by her words, but he still insensitively said, "Good, and for the record, I've been watching you die slowly for a while now."

She giggled at his blunt words like they were sharing dirty secrets and not talking about death. Then she sobered. "I know, but it's not the same as watching the breath leave somebody."

He conceded on that point. "Fine, but it's still not happening. I'm gonna be there for you, awake and alert. You're not dying tonight." He swallowed thickly. "Right?"

"Of course not. Goodnight, Dallas." Then she murmured something he couldn't quite catch.

Now he realizes what she had said was, "No promises," and he can picture her impish grin, a little sad this time. He's so pissed off at her, he can't even speak, and that's enough of an energy boost to get him to momentarily pull himself together. As he turns to go, however, his foot hits something. For whatever reason, there's a jar of pennies on the bathroom floor, and the scattered coins take him once again to that November 4th.

* * *

Patty, the waitress, is patient with Dallas as he counts out in pennies the exact change for the meal. She seems used to people being meticulous. He's not, at least, he's not used to being so obvious about it, and he wouldn't be so careful if he didn't have to be.

"There any jobs around here?" he asks, not even hoping there are but not finding the harm in inquiring.

She smiles. "Well, Lulu was looking for a permanent repair guy at her hotel. In her words, 'one I can nickel and dime with the costs of room and board so I don't get conned out of an arm and a leg.'"

He's too busy thinking to smile at her joke. He can do repair work. It was a brief but educational job he held just on the Texas/Oklahoma border. The job is not a favorite of his, and he's not keen on working at the same place Miss. Chatterbox said she was employed, but he doesn't have a lot of options spread before him.

"Where is this hotel?"

"Like Hope said, it's just across the street and down a ways, to the right. The place is named after Lulu, so it's easy enough to find."

He nods. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Patty is right about it being easy to find. It's a nice place, if you like old-fashioned looking styles. The porch is the length of the first floor, just about littered in rocking chairs, and it's covered by the balcony of the second floor. It's just the sort of cutesy place he would never be caught dead in, much less work in, but things change.

"What are you doing here?" asks the girl, Hope, from behind the counter.

"Looking for a job."

"Is that so?" asks the woman standing next to her.

The woman is holding an extremely overweight, black and white cat in her thin yet muscled arms. She looks to be about seventy, but it's hard to tell for sure.

"Are you Lulu?" Dallas asks.

"I am. You're Dallas Winston, the dangerous drifter. Hope told me all about you."

Dallas curses himself for ever saying a word to the little shit. He suddenly remembers why he hates kids. They're all nosy brats who ruin things, and they're useless too, always needing defending and protecting and whatnot.

"That so?" he says guardedly

Lulu grins then. "Oh yes, she said you were nice for all you claimed to be dangerous. What do you say, Hope, is he qualified to work here?"

Hope stops what she's doing, which is petting the huge cat between the ears. "If he can fix the leaky faucet in the office restroom, then sure. Oh, and one more thing." She gets very serious and looks Dallas straight in the eye. "Tuxedo won't be a problem, will he?"

As far as names go, Tuxedo isn't the strangest he's heard, but it throws him for a loop all the same "Who?"

Lulu snickers and jostles the cat. "She's talking about this old tomcat, who refuses to die by the way."

"He thinks life is precious," Hope defends him. "Even if he does have nine."

"I swear, child," Lulu says, rolling her eyes, "some days you're a very educated, articulate young lady, and others you're a nonsensical idiot."

Hope shrugs. "I live to be complex."

"Idiots aren't complex, they're just too dumb to make any sense."

"Yes, but part-time idiots are a different story."

If he wasn't so tired, he might find her amusing, but he is, so he does. All she does is remind him of Two-bit and Ponyboy, like a whimsical cross of their personalities. Dally sees Lulu is amused, more so than she lets on, but she's Hope's boss, so Dallas figures she can only let her guard down every now and then.

"Where is this faucet?" he asks, interrupting his own thoughts.

Lulu lets Tuxedo go. "Right there."

It's directly across the front desk. The restroom is a small space, and Dallas will need to work alone. He tells Lulu so.

"Fine," she says. "I'm assuming you'll be needing tools?"

"Yeah."

Lulu grimaces. "Don't say yeah. It's an uneducated response in the affirmative generated by lazy people to replace a good old fashion 'yes'. You could even say 'yes ma'am', if you're so inclined. Just don't say the other 'y' word."

He could tell her off, but he's not in the mood to do so, and he needs this job. "Yes, ma'am."

Lulu is satisfied and leaves Dally to fetch him his tools as he inspects the sink. Meanwhile, he wonders how it is he's being so docile lately. He's even being polite now. His best friend just died a while ago, and he's remembering his fucking manners. What the hell is wrong with him? As he asks these questions though, he's still too tired to be encased in his usual shell of fury. He wonders if he'll ever finally revert back to his old self.

It's Hope who brings him his tools. "Here you are. Lulu said you'd need these, but she got tied up with a few new guests."

Dallas nods. "Okay."

Hope also has a stool, and from it she watches him as he works. It should be uncomfortable, but he really doesn't care what she does. She seems to just be content to be silent.

"You never answered my first question," she says suddenly. "You know, about where you're from?"

He guesses the quiet doesn't keep her content for long. "Oh?"

"Yes, you only admitted in a round about way to being a drifter and told me what your name is."

"That so?"

She scoots her stool closer to the doorway. "Yes sir, so I'll ask it again, and then you can ask me a question, and we'll do the same tomorrow. Sound good?"

"It sounds fucking pointless is what," he says without any real bite, although he is being honest, because it sounds like a dumb, boring yet invasive game.

Hope giggles a bit. "Careful Lulu doesn't hear you swear. She'll wash your mouth out with soap."

That makes Dallas snort. "I wouldn't let her."

"Well, it's your funeral, because no matter how much she looks like a sweet old lady, you better believe she has the strength of ten men. She'd get you one way or another."

"Like hell."

Hope laughs again, harder this time. "Stop, you're getting off topic. I have a question to ask. Where are you from?"

"Tulsa" he answers quickly, because he doesn't want to think too long about where he's from, although he remembers too late he could've just told her to scram. "We're not really playing this tomorrow, are we?"

"I make no promises," she warns him. "Now, ask me a real question."

He sighs and pulls something from his pocket. "Wanna see a switchblade?"

He's hoping it scares her, but all it does is remind him that Two-bit gave him that blade, which makes it one of his last connections to his old life, and all Hope does is grin at him in a way he doesn't understand. "No, but thanks for offering. I think we'll be great friends, Dallas Winston."

 **By the way, there really is a place called the _Fort Davis Drug Store Hotel and Restaurant_. Also, Lulu's Hotel is based off of a real hotel in Ft. Davis called Hotel Limpia _,_ and when my mom stayed there once, she said there was a cat named Tuxedo. Just thought I'd include him.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Nov. 6, 1965

The bed Lulu gives him is comfortable enough, but Dallas never gets to sleep those first couple of nights in Fort Davis. It's too quiet, and his thoughts are starting to get louder again. As a result, he's kinda irritated during the day, which is a blessing to him, because irritation is close to anger, a familiar emotion.

At least Lulu's Hotel is an old place in constant need of maintenance. He's repairing something at least once every other day, and it keeps him busy, even on Sundays, because while Sundays are holy, what's broke on Sundays shouldn't wait until Monday. That's just laziness, and God frowns on idle hands, according to Lulu. Dallas doesn't mind the work, though. Busy suits him just fine.

Today it's the pool. Something is closing up the drain.

"Hello!" says an overly cheerful voice behind him. "How's our resident drifter?"

He grunts his hello, not answering her question. He hasn't gotten used to her yet, and he wishes she'd leave him alone. When he gets enough money to leave this town, he's not gonna miss it, all because of the absence of the impressively annoying Hope friggin' Hyland.

Yesterday his question to answer was had he "ever been to California?" He said no, and she launched into a bunch of nonsense about how she wanted to go there one day, something to do with a friend of hers being there, but he tuned her out until she called him on his lack of attention. He then asked if she was always annoying, and she said yes, without an ounce of shame.

"Do you have any siblings?" She asks this time.

"None that I know of." He looks at her. "Why are you always here? Don't you have a place to live?"

"That's two questions," she says, "but I'll be nice and answer them both. I do have a place to live. Now, I'm not always here, because I'm in school during the week, but I guess it feels like I'm always here, because this hotel is my place of residence. Lulu is my grandma, and I live with her. Since she lives here, so do I."

She's talking fast again, but before she can ramble for very much longer, Lulu calls Hope to go clean out a room. Apparently that's Hope's job, to be a maid "without the horrid dress and apron". She's adamant about not wearing dresses, although Lulu is sure that such an inclination will change when Hope gets older.

Hope sighs at having to stop talking with her unwilling participant of socialization. "I doubt we'll have time to talk again today. See you tomorrow, Dallas."

As Hope predicts, she and Dallas are too busy to converse the rest of the day. Dallas would do a happy dance if he was the sort to do things like that. He can't believe this is his life, for now at least. Maybe he should've just killed himself instead of running away.

* * *

Nov. 25, 1965

Thanksgiving is difficult for Dallas. It's the first one without Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, and since he ran away, it's also going to pass without the Curtis brothers for company. He won't even have Two-bit the idiot or sour-faced Steve for company, stuck with Hope and Lulu instead, and he wishes for... He doesn't know what he wishes for, but it's not to be here.

"Is it horrible to hate this holiday?" he wonders out loud.

"It's horrible to hate anything," says Hope absentmindedly as she loads her plate. "But people tend to do it anyway. I guess you can do what you want."

He stretches his arms on the door frame and wanders into TV room where the football game awaits. Lulu might not like eating in there, but she keeps the TV for the express purpose of watching every game the Dallas Cowboys play, and she's willing to bend the rules whenever they do.

Dally tries to get into it, but football was never his thing, and it just makes him think that Darry is probably watching this same game. Dallas can just imagine the oldest Curtis yelling at everyone to shut up as the card game gets too loud, and then he'll let himself be pulled away at halftime to go throw the ball around at the lot. It sounds like a good day, although he can't imagine it being quite so perfect, not with Mr. and Mrs. Curtis missing at the table, and Johnny... Nothing will ever be right with Johnny gone. Dally wonders how the gang's faring on that front.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hope hands him a roll to go with his plate of turkey and mashed potatoes.

He shrugs, tireder than he can ever remember being. "Just thinking."

"Thinking or remembering?"

"There a difference?" he asks doubtfully.

She smiles. "Of course. Thinking is for sorting things out for a present or future dilemma. Remembering is for the past, to sort it out as well or to relive it. Oh, and then there's daydreaming, which is just to escape problems."

Dallas shakes his head, which is starting to throb. "You talk too much."

"And you remember too much."

"There's a lot to remember."

"Remember or daydream about?"

Dallas is stumped on that one. He supposes he was more daydreaming than remembering, but a tough guy like him isn't supposed to dream at all, about anything. Irritated, he scowls at Hope.

"None of your business."

"Will you two pipe down?" Lulu hisses. "I'm trying to watch the game here."

Hope sighs and turns to the TV, sparing Dallas from any more conversation.

* * *

Nov. 30, 1965

As much as he doesn't like Hope or her game of questions, he participates and humors her until he just can't do it anymore. Funny thing is, the last straw doesn't start with a deep question that makes him think too hard about what he's trying to escape, and it doesn't end with him blowing up at her. There's not even any yelling. No fireworks, waterworks, or any other such thing.

"What's your favorite animal?"

Dallas sighs and looks up from his plate. She caught him having dinner, which is a platter of tuna sandwiches courtesy of Lulu. What's worse is she caught him right as he was taking a big bite. He hurries to chew and swallow his food, because if he refuses to answer, she'll sing every country song she knows, and she'll purposefully make her voice sound horrible. She should be glad he's so broken, otherwise her nose would be broken instead.

"Horses." He washes down the rest of his sandwich with his water. His mind scrambles for a question to ask her, but all he can come up with is, "Don't you have anything better to do than be a pest?"

"Not really," Hope says, that cheeky grin making an appearance on her face.

"So you just really enjoy asking personal questions you haven't earned the answers to?" His voice is hard, tougher than he's managed to get it in a while, and he enjoys the sound of his old self, even if he's still numb and doesn't feel normal yet.

Hope blinks at his tone, and her expression loses some of the perkiness. "If it really bothers you that much I'll leave you alone."

"It does," he says without thinking about it.

She nods with understanding in her features. "Okay then. Bye, Dallas."

When she leaves, he feels like he can breathe at last. Finally, he's rid of her. Only, now it's too quiet again. Damn.

* * *

 **So, I know this probably isn't the story most of you wanted updated, but I already had snippets here and there written down, which is more than I can say for Love Without End. That said, I'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I rarely am, and I hope you enjoy it regardless.**

 **Now, it's been a few months since I've been active on this site, and I feel this very minor breakthrough in my major writer's block is a good time to explain a few things.**

 **First of all, the extreme case of writer's block I have seems to render my outlines useless. Whenever I try to write, it's trash. I feel like I've lost the ability to come up with anything worth reading.  
**

 **Secondly, I'm late in saying how sorry I am for deleting my Bob and Franny stories, especially to all of you who reviewed on them. All I'm willing to say is that I had a crisis of sorts that made me act rashly and delete them in a frenzy of confusion and self doubt, the effects of which I'm still feeling, so I don't know if I'll post them again. I'll make the decision when I manage to recover them. If I do, I'll probably edit them too.  
**

 **Lastly, I do plan to finish my stories. I really do, but it will take time. Thank you.**


End file.
